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queen, who wanted the king dead, and how were they doing it? Was the constable, with his talk of lights and telephones, deliberately trying to mislead me? Had Gwen been warned against me?
    I shook my head. This would get me nowhere. Maybe while everyone else was sheltering from the rain I should take the opportunity to explore the castle; so far I had seen very little of it. I remembered a spel I had seen once and reached for my shelves. I found it in only the second book I consulted, the spel to keep dry in the rain. "Why didn't I learn this one before?" I asked myself. It was only a variation of the lifting spel , creating a diversion for al the raindrops before they hit one's head.
    I set the spel in place and stepped outside. It worked perfectly, although I immediately stepped in a puddle and got water in my socks. But this was not the fault of the magic. My good humor restored, I turned back to lock the door to my chambers, then started across the courtyard.
    I stopped in the stables, where the horses whickered at me and the cats came to rub against my legs. It was warm and dusty with the smel of hay. The sound of rain seemed faint and far away in the comfort and dim light. I stroked the horses on their noses and laughed when they tried to nuzzle my pockets. "No carrots," I told them. Also no malignant influences. I readjusted my spel and stepped back into the courtyard.
    This time I walked to the north end of the courtyard, where a massive tower rose. The stones of the tower, unlike the stones of the rest of the castle, were not whitewashed, but were so dark they were almost black. There were no windows for the first thirty feet. It was in this tower, according to the chaplain, that my predecessor had had his study.
    A heavy oak door was the only way in. I tested the handle, but it wouldn't open. With my eye to the crack along the doorjamb, I thought I saw a bolt on the inside. Delicately I tried a lifting spel on the bolt, or rather a sliding spel , to push it back in its track. Although I had to abandon the spel against the rain to give al my concentration to the bolt, my sliding spel actual y worked. With only the slightest squeak, the bolt slid back, and I was able to pul the door open. Damp but delighted, I went in and closed the door behind me.
    Inside it was completely black, except for tiny streaks of light around the door frame. I needed a light; I wondered if maybe I should start carrying a wizard's staff. I could make a light, at least temporarily, but I needed something to attach it to. I found a piece of hay sticking to my trousers and tried that, but it made only a faint firefly glow. So I took off my belt and used the buckle. It was stil not very bright, but it was serviceable, and since the design of the buckle was the moon and stars, it was rather dramatic. I wondered why I had not thought of making the buckle glow earlier and wondered if it would be possible to attach the light permanently.
    Pleased with myself, I started up steep, uneven steps. It wasn't until I had spiraled up at least halfway, I estimated, to the first window, that a sudden thought brought me to a halt. If the tower was empty, why had the door been bolted on the inside ?
    I listened for a moment, hearing nothing but my own heartbeat, and probed with my mind, without finding another intel igence in the tower. I shrugged, tel ing myself that there was perhaps a connection to the rest of the castle from an upper level, but I had again the goose-bump feeling of evil.
    Shortly I reached the first window and looked out across the wet courtyard. Except for the smoke from the chimneys and a distant sound of voices and laughter, the castle looked deserted. From here on up there seemed to be windows enough that the stairs were never black. I had been walking with my belt held out ahead of me to watch for uneven places in the stairs, but now I put it back around my waist. To my disappointment, the moon and stars of the buckle slowly faded once